Getting into print for the first time in last August's edition of Writer's Forum magazine was undoubtedly the highlight and proof that hard work and persistence can pay off. It is worth exposing yourself to constructive criticism. I'd been sending in poems for several months prior, taking the optional critique along the way. I learned a lot about what makes a poem work versus common pitfalls and the dangerous lure of cliché. (Needless to say I've sailed close to these rocks on occasion).
I believe my work will be better from here on as a result of taking some risks. For what it's worth, my advice; don't be afraid of sticking your head above the parapet. You'll get some knockbacks along the way but nothing ventured, nothing gained. It will all be worth it in the end if you marry belief with being prepared to listen to what others have to say about your work. My long term goal is have a published collection. I'm not going to waver from that course and I believe it will happen. The steps I'm taking now will be the foundations on which I will achieve my goal.
There has been only very limited time for performing poetry. I thoroughly enjoyed my time at the Southwold festival in Suffolk last summer. A lot of varied performances from music to poetry were to be had and it was well worth the journey. Also I got to perform at the Light Bulb Festival, Colchester, alongside Leanne Moden and Martin Newell which made for a great evening. I am one of these types that enjoy performing but it isn't the primary goal of writing for me. My favourite thing is to sit down with a poem I enjoy, read it through several times and just think about what the speaker is saying. There are collections I will return to time and again simply for the reading experience. Particular favourites are Leonard Cohen's "Book of Longing", Pasquale Petit's "What the Water Gave Me", The collected works of Freda Downie, Kapka Kassabova's "Someone Else's Life" and of course Emily Dickinson. That's the goal.
These poets allow the reader to return again and again and still find something fresh. Push me to name a favourite and I'll say Dickinson but am acutely aware all arts are subjective and you most likely don't share my opinion. Isn't that what it's all about though? Cordial disagreement is an increasingly rare commodity. A final thought before some short poems regarding the subject of subjectivity. I'd rather be what we Brits call a "marmite poet". Marmite is a peculiar yeast extract that people either love or loathe in equal measure. There seems to be no middle ground. Surely the worst thing is for the reader or listener to sit on the fence with an uncommitted shrug of the shoulders when you've given them your best shot!
Enough rambling already, poems...
Junk
Mail
I
waited for the fall of your card upon the doormat
Ached
to hear a sound that said you cared
Strained
my ears for the fall of envelope on carpet
A hope
of thoughts you might have kindly spared.
I
waited through a cold grey winter morning
For
those words to light me, like your smile
Daydreamed
in colour of our door step conversation
When
your toes playfully gripped the carpet pile.
I
waited for hours slowly turning into days
Sat
forgotten under a covering of dust
Motionless
as spiders weaved their webs around me
Warmed
only by false memories of “us”.
Do you
know the pain your omission brought me?
Emotionally
I’ve turned into a ghost
Silence
only broken by the shattering of hope
No
love, just junk mail through the post.
Junk Mail is the poem that made print. Its dedicated to the moment the speaker realises the "magical other" is not going to send them a birthday card.
I referred earlier to Leonard Cohen's "Book of Longing". It had a tremendous influence on me. I'll leave you for now with some short pieces I wrote in the wake of that book, trying to reach the shore. Until next time...
I referred earlier to Leonard Cohen's "Book of Longing". It had a tremendous influence on me. I'll leave you for now with some short pieces I wrote in the wake of that book, trying to reach the shore. Until next time...
Sea
of Longing
Today
is a day of longing
In a
week of longing
In a
year of longing
Sailing
on the sea of longing.
There's
no land in sight
No
other ships in sight.
None
pass in long nights
Spent
on the sea of longing.
Tigress as Sexual
Predator
I saw a
tigress in my dream
Representing
female power
Sexuality
with a hint of aggression.
She was
a seductress
Hiding
under stripped fur
When I
stroked her she purred.
Coming
to the surface
She was
a repressed feeling
An
erotic fantasy coiled to strike
And we
knew
As she
opened like a flower
She
could eat me at any moment.
We also
knew
The
secret of the jungle
It was
a feast we both wanted.
Monk’s
Eye View
In
penitence I will shave my head
Clad
myself in sunset’s orange robes
And sit
in the crook of a crescent moon
Painting
love across the canvass of your sky.
Dead Line
It was all a pointless exercise
Trying to mend broken thoughts
Repair hopes which died long ago
Sat waiting, by a silent phone.
I
Neutrino
Falling through the earth
Streaming
through your eyes
Hollow, disembodied
I
pass right through you
A
massless ghost particle
You
do not interact with me at all.
Three Phases of the Moon
"Three Phases of the Moon" is a three part poem about longing for the “magical other” expressed as the moon. The speaker begins by losing their identity in the “magical other”, becoming indivisible from them. When they try to join with the other in any meaningful sense the object of their affections is as elusive as the moon in water. When they try to reach out and touch the other it proves impossible to connect. The final phase sees the speaker trapped by their own desire.
Possessing the Moon
I was
over the moon in my dreams
Ready
to enter the sea of tranquillity.
Raw
desire threatened to drown me
Until I
became the man in the moon.
Reflections of the Moon
Looking
at the moon is akin to longing
I yearn
to lasso the silver disk, tie it to a stick,
Wander
around basking in its glow
I’ve
seen its likeness in many different faces
Seen it
mirrored in many different eyes
Heard
its echo in many different voices
You are
the source of the moon
Waves
of you bridge the gulf between us
Cut
though my heart with the speed of sound
It
reminds me of fishing for your favour
Elusive, like a reflection in a puddle
I tried to connect, you dissolved at my touch
Still you stubbornly coalesce
Flooding me with an intangible smile.
How many more times must I return?
How
many more times try to lasso the moon?
Under
the Moon
You’re
still there, shining above me
I
realised as much in twenty seconds
Spent
longing over a doorstep.
The
moon I worship will never change.
_______________________________
Well, that's it for this time. I hope you enjoy the update and I promise not to leave it quite so long again, God willing!
Kind regards
Mark
Kind regards
Mark
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